


Hiraeth

by injeong



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, NCT in general, Psychological, Tragedy, a shit ton of angst, character dreath, nct127 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injeong/pseuds/injeong
Summary: Hiraeth: (n) a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.





	Hiraeth

_ Hiraeth _ : (n) a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Winwin wakes up at night again. 

 

It's just been raining, and the smell of the soft soil outside his window wakes him up almost instantly. If he turns his head he can see the sliver of a crescent of the moon, hanging up there in the sky with the stars. There are lots of stars in this area, in the right time. Winwin likes that. He doesn't know what the name of this phase of the moon is, nor does he care. He never learned it. Or maybe he just forgot?

 

It's not like he'll have a use for anything he's learned. 

 

He can see the silhouette of the trees lining the hospital garden from his window, and has a sudden desire to go outside, now. He's not allowed out of his room without permission, but he wants to. They think he's a danger to the other patients. They thought he couldn't hear him, but he can. 

 

Why would he be a danger to the other patients? Winwin slowly lifts himself out of bed, footsteps bare and light and silent, and drifts down the white, white corridors. Yuta  always said he was so innocent and pure, that he wasn't capable of hurting anyone. 

 

The door is open. 

 

Winwin goes outside. 

 

The first footstep on the cool, slightly damp ground makes him squeal slightly, but after a few seconds he learns to enjoy it. The softness, the clean if the concrete, the soil. 

 

Yuta is waiting for him under the tree, sitting on the bench. 

 

Winwin walks over and sits down next to him. They don't say a word. 

 

There is no need for words, not with them. 

 

Their presence is all they need. Winwin likes seeing Yuta, knowing that he's there. There's an unspoken love. 

 

Winwin turns and watches as Yuta bounces slightly on the bench, a small smile on his lips. The stars dotting the sky behind them makes everything beautiful, but all he can see right now is Yuta. 

 

Would it be strange if he said that Yuta was transparent? 

 

If he concentrated, he could see the bench, the wet ground, and the starry sky behind Yuta, through him. But that didn't bother him - actually, he liked it. The world was too bright and dark, too much shadow and too much light, too intense. Winwin didn't like intense. Yuta was calm, soothing, and even though he was like a ghost, in a way, he knew that Yuta would always be there. Even if he was slightly faded, even if they only saw each other at night, even if nobody else seemed to know that Yuta was there, he knew that Yuta would always stay, stay with him.

 

They just stay in silence. It's a comfortable silence. 

 

And soon the stars started fading, and the rim of the horizon began glowing brightly, with soft shades of orange and red and gold. And that's when Yuta turns to him, his eyes sparkling like they've always done. 

 

“It's pretty, right?” 

 

Winwin unconsciously smiled, and nods. “Yes.” 

 

And that's also when Yuta asks an unexpected question. “Winwin, do you love me?” 

 

The younger boy is surprised, to say the least. Winwin gapes. “O-of course! I always love you Yuta, I will never stop loving you, I've only ever had you and I promise -”

 

“Hey, calm down, it was just a question!” Yuta flashes him a smile as he laughs, and Winwin immediately stills, giggling. “Never stop loving me, alright? Then the day that I stop loving you will never come.” 

 

“Okay.” Winwin shuffles a bit closer, not feeling the dampness of his thin paper hospital gown as he sits on the bench, and they lapse into another comfortable silence, watching the sun rise again. 

 

Another day. 

 

After a few minutes, Winwin stands up and walks away. He doesn't need to say goodbye, because he doesn't like saying goodbye and Yuta will visit him the next night anyway. And it's just a thing - he knows the time when Yuta leaves and he will go at that same time. Yuta never told him. Winwin just knows. 

 

And sure enough, when he looks back before pushing open the door, the bench is empty. But he doesn't feel sad, and just walks back inside, his bare feet silent on the patterned floor. 

  
  
  


The next night, Yuta is waiting for him again. Like usual. 

 

He wonders whether it's just his imagination that something seems a little strange. But it seems the same. The tree’s branches bowing over their heads, the stars speckling the sky, the smell of the rain and the damp soil under his feet. And Yuta. He is still here. 

 

Maybe … 

 

“Sicheng?” 

 

“Yes?” He turns around. Yuta is giving him a small smile. “I love you.”

 

“No, I love you more.” Winwin stuck his tongue out, but not to tease him - he just wants to hear his laugh. 

 

“Noo ~” Yuta pouts. “I love you the most!” 

 

“I love you more!”

 

“I do!”

 

“I love you more!”

 

“I love you even more!”

 

“I love you!”

 

“I love you the most!”

 

“No, I do!”

 

“I love you!”

 

“I love you!”

 

“Don't leave me.” 

 

“I lo- wait, what?”

 

Winwin turns and stares at Yuta. “You said -”

 

“Don't leave me.” 

 

“Why do you think I would leave you?” Winwin frowns. “I love you, I'll never leave you, I -”

 

“I didn't say that I thought you'd leave me,” Yuta laughs, and that makes Winwin smile again. “Just never forget me, and then I'll always love you and never leave your side. Okay?” 

 

“Promise?” Winwin holds out his hand, and even though Yuta is not painfully solid like everything else in this world is, he can still feel the pressure of his fingers wrapped around his own, and then Yuta smiles and says, “Pinky promise. Don't forget me.” 

 

“I will never forget you,” Winwin promises, and when he says that he means it with all his heart. 

 

And then he stands up to leave, because the sun is rising and he stayed out a little late, he can hear the bustle of the nurses - but that doesn't change the fact that he can still sense Yuta smiling at him from behind. 

 

And even as the nurses bustle about him, fussing over his wet clothes and bare feet and the fact that he'd been outside, Winwin smiles and thinks of Yuta. 

 

The night, the next night. 

 

It was a little harder to escape the hospital this time. The doctor had advised the nurses to keep a closer eye on him. But Winwin manages anyway, because it is Yuta and nothing is too much to see Yuta. To talk to him. To be with him. 

 

Yuta is worth anything and everything in the whole universe. Winwin would trade his whole world for Yuta in a second. 

 

“Winwin,” Yuta says after a few minutes staring at the stars. “Will you ever be sad?” 

 

“Sad?” He replies. Sad has never really occurred to him, come to think of it. Winwin then shakes his head. “No. Not if you're here. Even if the world is sad, if you're with me then I can be happy.” 

 

“And if I'm not here?” 

 

Winwin stops. The silence is long, and stretches on for a long time. After a while, he says, “But you'll always be here's right?” Because Yuta had always said to him, since forever, that he'd always be there. And Yuta didn't break his promises. Ever. 

 

What if Yuta did go one day? His mind whispers, but tendrils of angry darkness comes spiralling up, digging claws into the thought and dragging it away, tearing it to shreds. Because Yuta will never go away. Ever. 

 

“I won't leave you, Winwinnie,” Yuta says calmly, fondly. He reaches out, stroking the hair behind Winwin’s ear, then reaches down and taps the spot on his chest just above his heart. “I'll be here. Even if I'm gone, I'll never be gone, because I'm always here, okay?” 

 

And Winwin is comforted again. 

  
  


“Yuta?” He asks the next night, coming down and sitting next to him. Yuta looks up, and his face shifts into a worried expression. “What's wrong, baby?” 

 

“I had a dream.” Winwin plays with his fingers, until he gets bored and starts playing with Yuta's. “It was about you.” 

 

“What happened in it?” Yuta leans forward, his nose only an inch from his, but Winwin doesn't shy away because … it's Yuta. 

 

“I can't really remember much,” he confesses. “But … something had happened to you. You have to leave. And I had to stay. I didn't see you again after that.” 

 

There is a quiet, broken only by the chirping of the crickets, and Winwin pouts slightly. Yuta eventually sighs and leans his head against Winwin’s. “Tell me. What did I say to you yesterday? Last night?” 

 

“That … That …” Winwin scrunches up his face. He has trouble remembering things, but with Yuta, it's always easy to remember. “That you would never leave me as long as I didn't forget you.”

 

“And where am I always?” 

 

“Here.” Winwin taps the same place that Yuta had the last night. Just above his heart.

 

“Good.” And Yuta smiles again. “Don't worry, Winwin.” And then he leans into the other, sighs contentedly, and the rest of the night was in silence.  _ But _ , thinks Winwin,  _ I think this is the kind of silence that is the most beautiful in the world.  _

 

The next night, Yuta does something that he hadn't expected. 

 

“Winwin?” 

 

“Yes?” He turns around and squeaks a little when he sees his close Yuta is. Laughing, the elder boy smiled and says, “Do you remember the dances we used to do?” 

 

The dances?

 

For a scary moment, all he can think of as he tries to remember is a blurry, grey haze, like a plane flying through a stormy cloud at night. The sounds are muffled. The faces are blurred. His thoughts are incomprehensible. 

 

But then one face clears. 

 

It's Yuta. 

 

“I do.” 

 

“Let's dance, then.” Yuta hops up, and Winwin stares blankly. “H-here?” 

 

“Why not?” Yuta smiles. And Winwin smiles too. “But there's no music.” 

 

“ _ Real _ music,” Yuta leans closer, his eyes soft and dark and deep, “Isn't something everyone can hear. Because it comes from your heart and your mind.”

 

Then Winwin, after about three seconds of letting it sink in, nods. He has his own music. 

 

And he can remembers the songs, the musical pieces that he and Yuta used to dance to together before … Before he came here. The thought of where he had been before surfaces, making him stop in confusion, but it quickly sinks out of sight. 

 

And Yuta. 

 

“The first one,” he says. “The one that was the first one we made and danced together to. And the one on our first date.” The memories are flickering through his mind as he says this. The faces are blurry - all except Yuta’s. And that's okay, because all he needs in this world is Yuta. 

 

“You still remember all of it?” Yuta’s voice is teasing, and Winwin pouts. “Of course I do! How could I forget? You said to me that this one we would learn and always remember and even when we're old and in wheelchairs we'll still be dancing to. How could I forget that?” 

 

“I know, Winwinnie.” Yuta leans his head against his briefly, before pulling back, his eyes bright. “On three?”

 

And Winwin is a little stiff after so long - but he still remembers it all, every move, every turn, every little word and beat and note. And it's just as beautiful as ever. 

  
  


Winwin wakes up one day. 

 

He knows this day. 

 

There's a small calendar, by his bedside. It's big and comfortable to use, the paper thick and white, a pen hanging on the wall within his reach. There are also photos, pictures on the calendar. Calming pictures. Soothing pictures. 

 

And pictures he all knows. 

 

It's October. His and Yuta's birthdays were in October too. 

 

October was also the month where he fell in love with the dancer, the dancer with the soft brown eyes and the smile that he loves so much. Then, in the same month, he planned to ask him out. But in the end, he didn't. 

 

Then the next day, Yuta came over, and asked Winwin if he wanted a date. 

 

Winwin said yes. 

 

And then from then on it was official. 

 

October was always a special month for them, it still was, of course. 

 

He's woken up in the late afternoon, as usual, and the sun is still high in the sky, just beginning to go down. If he is quiet, he can hear the lowered voices of the nurses who claimed to look after him, or even the distant cry of the gull, because this place - this building - it was near to the sea. Winwin has been to the sea once? He can't really remember. He thinks it was whilst he was here, too, because he was there, with more people, who's faces he can't remember. The sea was huge. Waves that stretched on further than the horizons, that kept coming and coming and rolling over and over the beach, crashing and breaking on the sand. And the noise. It was loud, roaring, but it was quiet too, whispering, murmuring. There was a smell, salty, like dried fish and seaweed and mossy rocks and shells. It made him sick at first, but he got used to it quickly. The air was clean. 

 

And Yuta? 

 

He searches for a while in his memories. He walks the grainy sand again. Plays with the rocks that he picked up further up the beach. But where is Yuta? 

 

Then he remembers. 

 

Yuta was sitting a little further up the beach. Winwin could see him, but for some reason he couldn't quite remember, he doesn't feel the need to run to him. Instead, he just stays there. Yuta is sitting on top of the cliff, back to the sun, so Winwin has to squint to see him, make out his outline against the sun’s brightness. 

 

Winwin thought it made him look like an angel. 

 

But then Yuta can't be a  _ real _ angel. Real angels are dead and came back to protect people. Yuta protects Winwin, but he isn't dead. If he was dead, that would mean he would have left him, and Yuta would never do that. 

 

He doesn't realize that he had been closing his eyes until he opens them again, and finds himself still staring at the calendar on his wall, at the photo of the archway made from glowing amber and yellow and scarlet leaves.

 

If he concentrates, he can almost make out the smell of the ocean again, hear the distant, powerful, murmuring roar of the waves that have yet to crash into the beach before him. 

 

He plays with his bedsheet, twisting and running his hands over the white, crisp fabric, imagining that it is sand, tiny grains of shattered rocks that glitter gold and amber in the sun. They shift and slide under his fingers, heavy, solid, yet lose and light, breaking apart their tiny formations, rubbing against each other, each tiny rock worn into a perfect circle by the other. Winwin imagines each tiny rock, imagines himself picking up a small handful at a time, and looking over each grain of sand, every tiny piece, smooth and small and round and shining, lying on his palm as he sits on the beach in his memories. He puts it down, then sifts through the small handful and picks out another. 

 

By the time he has finished, the nurses are calling him and wheeling a small trolley in. It's dinner. 

 

He eats slowly. 

 

Why would he need to rush? The tinkling sound of his spoon on the metal plate sounds nice. He taps the spoon on the plate again as he drinks, then tilts the cup with way and that, shifting to the side so that he is sitting in the shaft of sunlight that streams in through the window. The water in the cup sparkles as it moves, and there's another image in his mind - waves crashing against the glittering sand, waves that sparkle and have wild horses as crests and spray that flies into the air and make it seem like crystals are falling from the sky.

 

He smiles. 

  
  
  


Then night falls, and one by one he sees the window’s lights turn off. He lies down, just in case his nurses come in, so he can pretend to be asleep. But he needs to go soon, and this night, he wants to spend more time. Because it’s the day. Or night, he thinks to himself. 

 

But as soon as he steps out of the building and into the garden, he feels that something is wrong. 

 

The night is still and quiet, the sound soft and ever so slightly damp beneath his feet, and the sky is dotted with stars like scraps of polished metal stitched onto a black velvet blanket. 

 

But something feels wrong, and Winwin approaches the tree and the bench a little quicker than usual. 

 

And yes - Yuta is waiting for him there. He relaxes instantly, because if Yuta is here then nothing can go wrong, but something still feels wrong. But he shakes it off. This is a special night, remembering the best night of his life, and he shouldn't be thinking bad things. 

 

Yuta watches him with those beautiful eyes, smiles. Winwin relaxes further and goes to sit down next to him, his hand automatically brushing the elder boy's arm. Yuta slides his hand down his wrist before linking their fingers, and they both lean against each other. Winwin nestles his head into the space between Yuta’s shoulder and neck, and breathes deeply, half closing his eyes. He can feel the gentle pressure if Yuta’s thumb stroking circles on the back of his hand. 

 

This is peace, he thinks. 

 

The night air seems to help them, drifting cool and smooth, not too cold or too hot, making the wind chimes tinkle quietly from the other side of the garden. The stars above them seem brighter than ever, sparkling diamond crystals on black velvet. He leans in closer. 

 

And then Yuta speaks. 

 

“This is my last night, Winwin.” 

 

He stops. Looks up suddenly. “W-what?”

 

“My last night. Here.” 

 

Winwin scrambles up onto his feet. “I - I don't get it, you were always here! You - you're always here, and you're always going to - to be here … With me …” he trails off, seeing Yuta's face. It's an expression he rarely sees, but he knows it too well. He's smiling - but it's a sad smile, a knowing smile. 

 

“Winwin,” he says, seriously. Winwin just shakes his head again. “But - you're joking, right? It's a joke?”

 

“Winwin,” he says again, urgently. “Listen. I want to you listen, and don't say anything until the end, okay?” 

 

“But -”

 

Yuta leans forwards and grabs both his hands. “Please.”

 

And Winwin falls silent.

 

Yuta takes a deep breath. “It's going to be really hard for you, Winwin,” he starts haltingly. “I've always been here … in front of you, next to you, where you can see me. But remember what I told you?” 

 

“... That … that you'll always be h-here …” Winwin points at his heart. Yuta's face breaks into a smile. “Yes, there. No matter what happens, even if you start to forget, I'll always be there, watching over you. Okay?”

 

“O-okay …” Winwin doesn't remember when he started to cry, but now the stars are flowing freely. It's the first time he's cried in … What, months? Years?

 

“Just don't forget that, Winwinnie.” Yuta tries to smile again, but Winwin can see the tears filling his eyes. “I'm never gone, even if I am gone. And I know you'll be sad, very sad. But … don't always be sad, okay? Because you are Winwin, and my baby deserves the world and so much more that I couldn't give you. So now you have to go and get it yourself, okay? Winwin?”

 

Winwin just manages to nod, and out of the corner of his eye he sees the door opening, the nurses and doctors spotting him and running towards him. He turns towards Yuta, desperate. “Yuta … please …” 

 

“You're brave, Sicheng,” he says fondly. Even now, as he watched, Winwin can see Yuta fading, his voice growing quieter and quieter. “You've always been so, so brave, so I just need you to carry on being brave, for me?” 

 

The nurses are only a few feet away from him now. And when Winwin turns back again, he bursts into tears again, because Yuta is actually going, he's leaving him, for real, and it's not a joke, not this time, not ever, and - 

 

“I'm not leaving you, Sicheng,” Yuta says. He's so faint, now … Winwin can barely see him. Just an outline, and his eyes, the eyes that he had looked into for so long, the eyes that shone with love every time they fell upon him … 

 

“I'm never leaving you.” 

 

“But you are!” Winwin screams, finally unable to hold it in any longer. “You are, you promised you wouldn't and now you are and you're leaving me and -” 

 

The doctors are here.

 

Yuta watches him, a trace of the smile that he had so loved curving his lips as he looks down on him. “I love you, Sicheng.” 

 

And then he's gone.

 

Winwin starts screaming again, struggling wildly against the people in the blue and white gowns who are holding him down, stopping him from getting to Yuta - he screams and screams, his vision blurred by the tears which just won't stop falling, and he screams and screams but Yuta won't come. 

 

There's a sharp pain on the back of his neck, and he recognizes it instantly as the prick of a needle, and a second later he recognizes the slow, sluggish feeling that starts to seep into his bones, clouding his mind. It's that drug they use, to get him to go to sleep. But there's still one thing, one thing burning clear in his mind, a roaring inferno that outglares all the rest - 

 

Yuta's gone.

 

And as the world starts to fade, and he can't feel his limbs anymore, and he is dimly aware of the grass tickling his neck where he fell, he looks, he tries to lift his head, to walk, to do anything, but Yuta still doesn't come.

 

He screams again - one last, long, agonizing shriek that tears out of his throat and into the shattered calm of the night garden, tears burning his eyes and his lips dry and cracked. 

And then the world fades into black.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When he wakes up, he knows something is wrong. 

 

He can't move. Can't open his eyes, can't move his fingers. 

 

Winwin steadies his breathing. There's an unusual calmness in his mind - probably something with drugs, he thinks, that stops him from panicking. He knows it must be a drug, because he remembers. He remembers the gardens, and the last night, and Yuta leaving him. 

 

He's empty.

 

There's no pain, no sadness, none of the wrenching agony of heartbreak that he had screamed out the night before. 

 

He's just numb. 

 

And that's when he hears. 

 

He recognizes the soft voices of the nurses, and strains to listen. 

 

“- for years,” one of them says. There's the tinkering metal sound of instruments against the plastic tray. “The poor boy …” 

 

“I saw the pictures,” the other one said. There was a distinct pity in her voice. “How someone could have done things like that is beyond me …”

 

“They admitted it to it,” the first nurse says. There's another clinking of metal, and the squeaking that Winwin recognizes as the IV drip’s wheels. “They had it all recorded on camera, and I … I watched it. The first ten minutes, then I just couldn't watch it. And the video was hours long.”

 

Winwin tries again to open his eyes, but it's still completely black. There isn't even the reddish or orange light behind his eyelids that indicates there's light, just black. 

 

“They received a life long sentence, both of them,” small, quiet footsteps. “But they went to a mental asylum, anyway.” 

 

“His brother,” one of them says. Winwin makes out only two voices, there is only two of them in the room with him. “They told us his brother was shot, after only half an hour, in front of him. But his boyfriend … Well.” 

 

“Tortured for seven hours,” the other nurse sighed. “They left all the tools at the sight, gave a description to the police. Like they wanted to recount it - they said they'd done everything they could have thought of - knives, burning, acid, bleach, whips, screws, everything. He just died, his body couldn't hold out the pain any more.” Some more clinking noises. “I saw the body, through the glass when I was running some errands. I still see it sometimes when I have nightmares … it was terrible. Barely recognisable as a human, to think of how much pain the poor boy would have gone through before he died …”

 

There’s a rustling of crisp clothes and bedsheets. “Anyone would have been driven into insanity.” 

 

Winwin suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

 

Were they talking about him? 

 

“You've only been here for half a year,” one of them says. Her voice is soft and gentle, like all the other doctors and nurses. “I came on the same day that he was admitted. Every day, he went to the garden, where we found him. We don't try to suppress our patients, you see, and it made him happy. So we let him, and listened in every night. He was talking, but there we no-one there.” 

 

Winwin's blood runs cold. That can't be right. Yuta was there - he was always there, wasn't he? He'd talked to him, felt the pressure of his kisses, heard him say his name … 

 

“After a few nights, we talked to the psychiatrists that he had had before he came here, and found that the person that he imagined himself talking to was the boyfriend that had been murdered after seven hours of torture - right in front of him. He didn't remember anything.” 

 

No. No, that can't be right. 

 

Winwin struggles to wake up, to tell the nurses that no, they're wrong, Yuta had always been there. Nobody had died. Yuta hadn't died. Yuta was still here …

 

Only, he wasn't. 

 

“Something must have happened. He's not going anywhere now, or talking. Maybe the boyfriend … I'm not sure.” There's another shuffling noise of footsteps. “We'll take him to talk to the therapist when he wakes up, try and find what happened.”

 

_ But I'm awake _ , Winwin tries to say.  _ I'm awake and I hear the lies you have been trying to tell me. Yuta wasn't gone. Yuta isn't dead. _

 

Yes, maybe he doesn't remember much, only Yuta. But Yuta was the only thing he needs in the world. It could just have been an accident, maybe he has memory loss or something. Yuta isn't dead. He isn't - he  _ can't _ be.

 

“The brother?” There's the squeak of the door. “What was his name again?” 

 

Footsteps click across the smooth floor. “I can't remember the brother's name. But the boyfriend had a nickname that he called the boy, a nickname only his close friends used.” 

 

Winwin stalls in his thoughts. He's confused now. His name? His name in Winwin. But …

 

The last night.

 

Yuta called him Winwin, like he always did. Until the last few moments, when he called him …

 

“Sicheng,” she says. “His real name is Dong Sicheng.” 

 

And suddenly Yuta has left him all over again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**EPILOGUE**

 

It's just been raining, and the smell of the soft soil under his shoes wakes his senses almost instantly. If he turns his head he can see the sliver of a crescent of the moon, hanging up there in the sky with the almost visible stars. There are lots of stars in this area, in the right time. Winwin likes that. 

 

There are two stones in front of him. 

 

He approaches the one on the left first. 

 

“Taeyong hyung …” he starts. He licks his lips slightly. He starts again. “Taeyong hyung … I should have visited earlier, but I'm here now, and you always said to take my time, right?” He laughs awkwardly. “I just want to say … I remember everything now. And I never got to say it, but thank you for everything, hyung. You've always tried to protect me, and you died because you were trying to protect me. But … you don't have to worry now, hyung. I can protect myself now, Yuta hyung showed me.” He rubs his neck. “You were the best brother ever, hyung. I'll visit you more often now, I promise.”

 

He stares at the small delicate bunch of white flowers at the base of the stone for a few seconds. It's a small bunch of flowers, barely the size of his wrists, but the petals are soft and pearly white, the stems emerald green and there's a small, brown string that ties them together. Winwin remembers that Taeyong hyung had said that he liked the smell. So he chose these. 

 

He moves on. 

 

A few feet away, really not much distance at all, there's another stone. Winwin’s throat closes up a little bit when he approaches, but he needs to be brave. Yuta had always said he was brave. 

 

“Yuta hyung …” he chokes on his words suddenly, and then he realizes, he doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to let him go. 

 

All those years that he spent, all the tears that he'd shed, the words, the laughs, the touches that he'd shared with his lover, he didn't want to let them go. 

 

His therapist had said that Winwin had problems with moving on. 

 

But he had to. For Yuta's sake.

 

“You told me before,” he says. “You told me that I had to go and get the world for me, because you did some of it and then you couldn't do any more. I never could have done anything, never could have been here if it wasn't for you, hyung … so thank you.” Winwin glances over to the side briefly before continuing, “I can never make it up to you, but I promise I will never ever forget you. You're too important for that. I kind of hope that you're still watching me from somewhere, maybe, and you can guide me like you always did. We had this thing where we knew what each other wanted and what we were both thinking. We could tell each other things without saying anything. I hope it can be like this now - before you were right, again, hyung. I can still feel like you're here, still here,” and he taps the place above his heart. “Just like you told me.” 

 

He stares fondly at the name carved into the stone. “You took care of me when I first came to Korea, when I didn't know the language or the culture or anything. You knew what it felt like, because you weren't Korean either, and then I think we just clicked. We were meant to be, I just think we weren't meant to last …” he laughed awkwardly and somewhat bitterly. “But Yuta hyung,” he adds, “You taught me a lot of things. And by … by going, you taught me another lesson, a valuable one that I promise I'll never forget. Things are different now, but … it's really thanks to you, hyung.” He wets his lips again. “I hope you don't mind, the things I did. You always put up with me, but then I guess I always put up with you too sometimes.” He laughs. “I won't forget.”

 

He glances over to the side again, and sees Kun waiting. He reaches out his hand, and the boy immediately comes to him, standing besides him in front of the stone. “Hyung,” Winwin starts. “I want you to meet someone.” 

 

The wind whistles through the gaps in the trees’ branches.

 

“This is Kun,” he says. “My … my boyfriend. I think you'll like him, hyung. I've told him about you, he says that if you were still … here … that we'd be friends. This doesn't mean I'm moving on from you and forgetting you because I can never do that, but … I think you wanted me to do this.” Winwin glances at Kun, who smiles back and addresses the stone. “Hello Yuta hyung … my name is Kun, Qian Kun. I'm Sicheng’s … well, boyfriend, now. If you were worrying, don't worry, because I promise I'll take care of Sicheng, I won't let anyone hurt him now. He's in safe hands.” He does a sort of half bow, and Winwin breaks into a smile. “Yuta hyung, it's kind of late so I need to go. I'll be back though, I'll come back a lot.”

 

He leaves the two graves, and as he glances back he sees the sunset light just disappearing over the treetops, reflecting the same soft orange colour of the flowers at the second stone. The petals of the first flowers shine like moonstones, like pearls in the young night. In the distance, a cricket chirps.

 

Kun takes his hand, and Winwin entwines their fingers and a small smile comes over his face when Kun squeezes. 

 

The road comes into view, and Winwin turns around one last time, where he can barely see the outline of the stones. From here he can only see one. 

 

And then he says something. 

 

“Yuta hyung … 私はまだあなたに恋をしている …” 

 

And then the car starts up, the door locks, and he's driving away, the sun finally swallowed by the peaks of the mountains and the pointed treetops, and through the slightly dusty windows of the car he can see the stars start to really shine. 

 

“私はまだあなたに恋をしている,” he whispers again, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. 

  
_ Watashi wa mada anata ni koiwoshiteiru. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ I'm still in love with you.


End file.
